


You're very pretty

by gwmclintock88



Series: Across the Whedonverse [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Dollhouse, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Spoilers, Whedonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwmclintock88/pseuds/gwmclintock88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the goddamn Black Widow, Agent of SHIELD, master assassin and the whole solution. Woe be unto those in her way, but woe was the least of Rossum’s concerns if Natasha obtain corroborating information that Echo had her words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're very pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this took much longer and became much larger than I had initially envisioned. Moreover, this story kept adding and adding to itself, and the only reason I stopped is because I added the words "epilogue' at the end, just to make sure I did. I stand by my belief that bunnies are evil, especially the plot ones. 
> 
> This story takes place at the beginning of Season 2 of Dollhouse and just before The Avengers. I have used some stuff from Age of Ultron and from the comics to reinforce different things and simply alluded to others. Any other deviations are liberties I have taken. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

            Natasha never worried or wondered about causal relationships. There always were a series of events that lead to different choices being offered to you. Some choices could lead to a happy, healthy life, though not always a long one; some choices brought pain, suffering and despair, again not always long but it always lasted. There were some choices etched into stone and skin, with lava and blood oozing from the septic wounds.

            She had her choices, made them in blood, and sacrificed her humanity when it was all said and done. The ledge she tallied every choice and action up in dripped red and decay. For a long time, her choices only made it darker until it nearly gushed like a cut artery. Then Clint came along, and for a moment, the spider caught the hawk in her web.

            But the hawk tore free, and instead of letting the spider fall and disappear, Clint made a different call.

            So maybe she thought of causal relationships, but only when they mattered. No many had since the Red Room, when they groomed her to be a monster. Few things could bring her back to those hallways and dorms, but standing on one of the walkways in this Dollhouse made her feel like a child of marble again, ready to be chipped and broken away into their perfect specimen.

            The lights hummed with energy, their faded glow only adding to the painful reminders of her youth. Natasha felt the memories stir amongst the movement below her – children dancing as the actives moved from room to room. She could see herself, pirouetting amongst the columns and the walls, not watching others, but only focused on the mirror. That focus brought her great pain in the end, but it also afforded her the chance at redemption. The pale colors reminded her of washed out walls and faded wallpaper. The handlers walked amongst the actives, greeting them as children but always aware and always on the lookout for dissention.

            People talked about never going home again, but somehow Natasha always found herself being thrust back into those memories, sometimes just the shallow end, but more often than not, she struggled to stay afloat. Not that anyone would see or could even understand. She was Black Widow, and well, if home for her was the hellish halls of the Red Room, where every color was stripped away until you were the perfect shade for them, then somehow the Dollhouse fit those memories to a tear. The only red she recalled was the blood left from her training, and at least here, there was no blood spilt – only souls.

            “Miss Rushman?” Natasha turned toward the source and offered a painted smile. DeWitt (Adelle DeWitt, DOB: 04/04/79, SNN: 775-84-632, head of the Los Angeles branch of the Dollhouse section for Rossum) stood a few feet away, dressed in a high-end tailored suit that would have cost Rushman more than a year’s salary if Natasha recalled her tailors correctly. She pushed up from her position against the railing, taking one last glance at a brown-haired active painting. “I trust everything is settled?”

            “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry but they told me to come down here once I was finished.”

            DeWitt pursed her lips as she began her own evaluation of Natasha, making the agent mentally review her appearance: A smart but not too expensive tailor suit with matching flats, red hair trimmed to a short, almost mannish cut that moved her from strikingly beautiful to simply beautifully androgynous, a light dusting of makeup – including a deep red lipstick - and a confident, poised demeanor to go along with the fabricated education and work history. Standard operating procedure for her, thought the haircut took some time to get used to.

            “Typically I like to introduce our new handlers to the Dollhouse,” DeWitt finally said. Though the woman tried to give nothing away, Natasha caught a hint of approval for her appearance in a twitch of a smile and the slight jerk of her eyebrow. “Tell me, what do you think?”

            _This is an abomination. You’ve made something worse than the Red Room._ “It’s intriguing, which is putting it mildly,” Natasha said, letting herself look back out at the rest of the rooms. She watched one doll be lead up a stairway toward them and then directed toward the room where they must play God. DeWitt motioned her to follow and Natasha complied.

            Despite already calculating the dimensions of the room and necessary statistics for any planned intervention, the chance to walk around only allowed her to continue her surveillance in the open. “I kind of want to know more about the process you use.”

            “I’m sure,” DeWitt said, offering a slight smile. “It is pretty amazing and I’m sure Topher will be happy to regale you with his expertise once we bond you with Charlie.”

            “Charlie?” Natasha asked.

            “Our newest recruit, hence the need for a new handler,” DeWitt said as they walked down the stairs. Natasha held in a shudder at the thought of engaging in the process, but it was necessary. This mission would not last long if things went according to plan, but as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Natasha already began to calculate alternatives and extensions.

            A young woman, the same doll who was painting earlier approached them. She gave them a vacant smile and for a moment, Natasha felt her control slip and the pain at the actives experience slipped through her veil. In that moment, she caught a look of comprehension from the doll but it faded when DeWitt spoke.

            “Good morning Echo (Doll named Echo, indeterminate age, between 20 and 30, SSN: unknown; only identified through multiple surveillance footage of different personalities). How are you?”

            “I am good,” Echo said without affect or reflection. She turned those vacant eyes toward Natasha, and for a moment, she felt like she was looking at the memory of a mirror. Those were her eyes staring at her from the past. “You’re very pretty.”

            Years of training, of holding onto other selves taught her to remain in character. That training nearly failed her in the moment, but Natasha plowed ahead. “You are very pretty too,” she said, giving Echo a smile which the doll seemed happy to return. A spark of life filled those eyes and had she more time, Natasha would have contemplated what that meant, but of course, things had to go to pot.

**I0I**

“Show us.”

            Natasha raised her eyebrow at the demand. The tour of the facility lasted another ten minutes, seven minutes longer than she expected DeWitt to last before directing her to Doctor Claire Sanders’ office (Claire Sander, M.D., indeterminiate age, late twenties, SSN: unknown; likely a long term doll). Brink and the head of security joined them in the office (Christopher Brink, DOB: 11/07/87, SSN: 428-91-007, degrees in neurology, computer science, and organic chemistry; Boyd Langton, DOB: 07/03/61, SSN: 211-09-0662, owns controlling share of Rossum, undercover in LA house for undetermined reason).

            The office was unremarkable – walls filled with books, and examination table, several desks, and only a few chairs. Sanders had risen from her desk where she was working on her computer when they entered and now DeWitt occupied that position of power. Natasha backed herself up against the examination table in the center of the room as Brink and Langton blocked her exit. At least Sanders had the curiosity to close the blinds of her office before this predictable conversation began

            “Show what?” Natasha put on her best confused face.

            DeWitt rolled her eyes at the question. “Your mark, show us your mark.” 

            “What? Why?” Natasha took the moment to look at each of them, cataloging their responses. Sanders seemed rather bored with this conversation, but DeWitt attempted to feign calmness and hide her nervousness. Langton glared at her, staring down at as if she owed him the response. Brink, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to offer and explanation – providing her with a point of manipulation for future use.

            “Dolls do not lose their marks,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement. He nearly bounced in place, ignorant of the glares for the others in the room, though Sanders appeared angry for a different reason than Brink speaking. “They do alter once we put in the architecture, but in general this is no different than if someone dies before meeting their mark.” _Which is tantamount to admitting to killing someone._ “These marks may even change when we input new personalities, but typically they do not alter significantly.”

            DeWitt spoke up before Brink could continue. He certainly would be a useful source of information in future. “We keep a record of all the marks dolls have had in the past to prevent any unwanted attention.” - _And maintain control over your assets._ -  “We also record the marks of all handlers.”

            “HR said nothing about that,” Natasha said, shifting her weight a bit. Her glanced around, much quicker this time but didn’t maintain eye contact, or at least, made it appear not to. The movement anchored her presentation of uncertainty, though Langton kept glaring at her. His eyes narrowed each time she spoke, not in the typical imagined fantasy leer, but more of an evaluation. Given the lack of knowledge of his presence and role within the Dollhouse, it would be better to continue to play naivety.

            “That will be rectified. For now, please show us your mark,” DeWitt said, now commanding her with a wave of her hand. Had she not been playing Natalie Rushman, Natasha would have broken the hand, but she still had her part to play.

            Natasha arched an eyebrow, but followed the direction. She turned her gaze to the floor, and mentally prepared herself to not look up. She needed to maintain her presentation, but the defiance had to be calculated and risked only at opportune times. This was not one of them.

            She pushed back her jacket as she reached for her belt. Undoing the restraint, she took care to hide the ceramic knife hidden as the belt clasp. Brink sputtered at her movements and spun away to stare at the wall. This got a smirk from Sanders, though for the moment those were the only reactions. It also provided her with a few moments to remove a bug from her belt and slip it underneath the table. Her fingers caught the ridge of the wooden frame, letting her stick the bug without needing to be too worried of hiding it.  Not the first she had placed within the Dollhouse, but definitely would not be the last.

            Pushing down her pants and pulling up her shirt a little, Natasha gave them all a good show of Rushman’s plain white panties. Her nimble fingers tugged them down, just enough to let them all stare at the words tattooed into her skin without providing them a whole different show. The black ink carved a very sketchy, masculine scrawl, and covered maybe only a few inches, but it definitely locked their attention on her and her words. Sanders stepped forward, taking a closer look at the words, but DeWitt seemed to accept the presentation. With more skin showing, Langton followed as many men did in the past – he stopped thinking with his brain and his evaluation slipped away in favor of a fantasy-fueled leer.

            “Good enough?”

            “Thank you Miss Rushman,” DeWitt said, finally breaking the silence. “I apologize for the inconvenience that this…process may have created. But we need to ensure our handlers do not become too emotionally involved with the dolls.” Her eyes shifted toward Langton, who tried not to respond, but Natasha caught the slight furrow of his lips, as if he was holding in the words.

            Natasha quickly redressed, tucking her shirt back in, but kept looking at the floor for a few seconds. Once she hit five, she let a little anger show, overriding some of the embarrassment she already was presenting. Her face grew warm and she narrowed her brow as she spoke. “You make all the employees strip for the boss on their first day, or am I just special?”

            “Echo is special,” DeWitt said, dismissing her requests as if they were nothing or of little consequence. “She is out most popular doll, and we just want to protect her from any unnecessary stress.” _Another not-so-veiled reference to slavery._ Natasha felt her anger bubbling a little more. Normally she’d flex her fingers and try to release the tension, but with all their eyes on her, she had to maintain the presentation. “Again, we apologize.”

 _But you’re not really sorry._  Natasha returned the remark with only a glare. This mission was turning in to less and less of the normal, but really, did the business women she meet have to be such pricks too? “Am I free to leave?”

            “Yes,” DeWitt said, continuing on as if she had just not sexually harassed her employee. “Topher, please show Miss Rushman your work space. I understand she’d like a better explanation of what happens.”

            She followed the young man out of the room and back up the staircase. She caught sight of Echo watching her, and were she anyone else, she would have stared at the young woman trapped in invisible chains, but she was the goddamn Black Widow. Nothing would stop her from reaching her goal. If anything, she now had more incentive to achieve it.

**I0I**

The Red Room trained their girls to kill their marks. Both the ones assigned to them and the ones who say their words. So ingrained was the fear that Natasha had to take out additional men in her assignments, even if they whispered the words from across the room. It wasn’t often, but it occurred enough that the moniker “Black Widow” was earned well before Mother Russia fell. She knew those words was still whispered, but never to her, and only under the protection of several feet of steel where she could not hear them.

            Except her words were the words of a child, so when a young boy told her while she was hiding once, Natasha nearly found herself with a deeper a stain on her soul than she could ever clean. That early morning started her down the forest where Clint found her.

            Once an agent of SHIELD, her soulmark became less of a problem, especially since her mark wasn’t visible. Even stripped naked, no one would know where to look, and rarely did mean care to see the sole of her foot – except for the occasional fetishist, which happened more often than she wanted it reported (Clint seemed to enjoy hearing about those moments though, weirdo).  The lack of a soulmark draws as much attention as a visible or unique one, prompting an explanation or presentation of her mark. Hence, this brilliant idea from one Laura Barton, Clint’s (secret) wife.

            Natasha made sure to talk to them about it after their son went to bed. It only seemed right to have Laura there when making her odd request.

            “You want what?” Clint asked. He tapped his ear, as if to restart his hearing aids. Natasha glanced at Laura who stood just behind her husband, one hand wrapped around her growing belly. Clint knew her hell, and Laura never begrudged her questions about pregnancy, so she rarely felt too jealous (it always would be there, what she sacrificed for what she became).

            “I need a mark.”

            “Don’t you have one?” Laura asked, brushing Clint’s ears with her fingers as she sat beside him.

            “I…not one I want to share,” Natasha said, glancing down at the centerpiece on the table. _With anyone else._ She didn’t want to share it with anyone she didn’t have to. Clint knew and by association Laura knew, but not even Coulson knew what her words were.  

            “Then why not ask someone from logistics to do it? Or medical?” Clint asked.

            “Clint,” Laura said, her voice half a reproach, half amusement. He let out a sigh, glancing at the two woman in his life. Well, technically three since Laura cared his unnamed daughter. His eyes were filled with sure care and affection, had she not worked beside this man for the better part of the past six years, she wondered if she would recognize him. She never was jealous of what Clint shared with Laura, only that they had it, and she may never receive that blessing (and yes, she would admit that love is a blessing, especially if they were to be marked with their soulmate’s words).

            “Nat, is this what you want?” Clint asked, leaning forward to take her hand in his. She nodded, still not looking up from the table. “When do you want to do this?”

            She turned to look at him, searching his eyes for a moment before catching Laura’s nod. “Right now.”

            “Now?” Clint sputtered. She released his hand and reached under the table for the kit she stole from Logistics, not that they would know it was gone. She placed the tattoo gun and set of inks on the table, prompting Laura to start giggling.

            “She doesn’t do anything in halves.”

            Clint glared at his wife, but there was no heat in his eyes. “Fine.” He stood up and began to roll up his sleeves. “But temporary ink.”

            “No. But I -”

            “No ‘buts,’ Nat.” Clint pointed his finger at her as he unloaded everything from the kit. “I will not have to explain to someone why my handwriting is on you when it really isn’t true.”

            Natasha crossed her arms and glared at him, trying to beat him into submission. He matched the glare, with Laura siting back and enjoying the battle of wills. For the record, Natasha totally could have won, but she gave this to him because he was gracious enough to agree to the process in the first place.

            “Fine,” she said. She stood and began to undo her pants.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His chair toppled over as he stood, one hand going over his eyes as he held the other out for her to stop. “What are you doing?”

            Natasha froze with her hands ready to pull down her jeans. “Getting ready.”

            “Where exactly do you want this tattoo?” Clint asked, glancing between her and his wife.

            Natasha tapped just to off her right hip, where it would be obviously covered but still a spot no one would see unless she happened to disrobe completely. Unfortunately for Clint, this happened frequently enough that Natasha did need some mark somewhere. “You’re okay with this?”

            Laura smiled and cupped his cheek with her hand. He stared at her with an intensity that made Natasha little embarrassed to be in the same room with them. “You’re too worried for this to be sexual, and Nat’s your partner. I trust her with your life, I can trust you with this.” She softly kissed his cheek before sitting back and sharing a smile with Natasha. “What do you want him to write?”

            “I don’t know,” Natasha admitted, caught up with the exchange of love that barely had anything to do with touching. “Whatever. Write the first thing that pops into your head

The words Clint etched into her skin were crude, but effective. Given the instructions, the results could have been anything and Natasha was thankful that by Clint’s standard use of curses, the tattoo was rather cultured. Of course, most people wouldn’t think ‘Fuck, can you walk by again?’ was tame, but Laura and Natasha agreed Clint managed to show some restraint.

To date, she wore the temporary tattoo for six missions lasting over a five month period of time. Her SO never asked to see the tattoo, but trusted her enough to not question it, though he did glance at Clint the first time he heard of she solve the problem.  The inspection by DeWitt and her colleagues fell within the last month before it began to fade, a fortunate happenstance given her current predicament. Rarely did she need it, but Natasha was thankful for the forethought.

Overall, the tattoo served to deflect any unnecessary questions for any mission, though hearing her words and seeing a spark of recognition when she responded was previously classified as an improbably possibility. Growing up, she never expected to hear the words, and it wasn’t until she was in the Red Room did she receive any knowledge and practice at the English language to understand them. It didn’t stop the Red Room from conditioning her to respond if anyone spoke the words in English or Russian, or even some other language.

Breaking the conditioning was amongst her first steps at regaining herself from the monster she was, and it made her rather adamant to keep the words a secret. She even made Fury agree to delete all records of her mark from SHIELD’s servers. (Only one man ever saw both sets of words – a foot fetishist – and he was always going to die). Hearing her words spoken to her always would ignite her senses, both as the only remaining thread of condition and at the possibility she never thought she deserved.

Meeting Echo had been expected – she reviewed all of the files they managed to create for possible actives within this branch (the files were about 74% accurate in relevant information) – but not for her to have an inkling of individual recognition. The thought of being trapped inside yourself, of being stripped and unmade almost daily horrified her, but she held in those fears. She was the Black Widow, Agent of SHIELD, master assassin and the whole solution. Woe but unto those in her way, but woe was the least of Rossum’s concerns if Natasha obtain corroborating information that Echo had her words.

The mission came first. She would not deviate from her role, unless absolutely necessary and only in moments of self-protection. Natasha remained adept at self-defense but protecting herself always involved protecting the writing on her foot. It just seemed now, that writing finally had another person attached to it.

**I0I**

Natalie Rushman’s role as handler for active codenamed Charlie was similar to her SO’s role as handler to the Black Widow, or even how her Red Room trainers worked. Remain at a safe distance, minimum interaction while on assignment or engagements in this case, and provide an interaction to guide the asset back into control’s auspices. The routine was familiar and had Natasha been a normal agent, it would not affect her.

            And it didn’t, at least while she was in public and on assignment. But every night she was alone in the apartment rented out to Rushman, Natasha swept for bugs, turned on some classical music, poured a large glass of vodka with a threat of water, jammed the bugs SHIELD put into place, and proceeded to alternate between throwing up and crying herself to sleep. In the morning, no one was the wiser, except for maybe Coulson, but the man let it slide given what was at stake. Natasha coped as best as she could, and still did a job most agents would fail. Except….she was now what she hated. She held control over another person and when they ‘bonded’ her to Charlie, it took of the encouragement Clint and Coulson offered since she turned her back on only being a monster to not slip out of her role and slice the neck of every last fucker in that building.

            The only benefit to her position as Charlie’s handler was the amount of downtime she seemed to have. The newness to the stable reduced the draw of Charlie as an active, meaning Natasha could adequately map out of the Dollhouse. No plans were on file, or at least, none that SHIELD could not access, which seemed odd to her. Not the oddest thing about Rossum’s project but definitely one of them. She spent time with Brink, surreptitiously copying all the information on his servers – and finding a processing speed that dwarfed the ones SHIELD utilized. This prompted new parameters to find out the source of the speed, and to determine viability for SHIELD’s use.

            Rossum also was under public scrutiny, or at least it seemed so given the Senator Perrin’s interest in the Dollhouse. Perrin was making a big stink, but the sudden change in syntax and rhetoric was suspicious enough that Coulson let her know of the developments at the DC Dollhouse. Things were escalating quickly, and typically that would be a good thing, except her orders meant to hold position until a plan could be made. It wasn’t ideal, and it meant more time as a handler, but it also meant more time with Echo.

            Echo was special. Anyone could see that, but Natasha saw beneath the surface. One of the first things Natasha hacked into where all of Echo’s engagements. She spent several night reading and rereading them, learning everything she could about the intriguing person who said her words. From being a thief, to helping solve her own murder, to being the focus of a composite event codenamed Alpha, Echo’s brief service to Rossum was filled with travesty and excitement. But her engagements were not the scariest information contained in those files.

            The lack of information about their processes were not kept in the main server. In fact, a lot of data was missing. She sent out some spyware trying to find it but needed to find the answers somewhere.

            “So what do you think?”

            Natasha turned to see Paul Ballard (disgraced, ex-FBI agent hired to be the handler for Echo; DOB: 01/07/81; SSN: 773-80-1192) walking up toward her. He just returned from an engagement with Echo, and from the chatter her bugs received (and were still broadcasting, thank you SHIELD tech), things were not quite as smooth as they typically were. He stood several inches above her, and always seemed to have a scowl or a furrowed brow. Somehow, Echo liked him. Whether that was the bonding they forced handlers to take part in (it wasn’t sexual, otherwise Natasha would have killed someone) or Echo’s obviously burgeoning personality Natashsa wasn’t supposed to notice, she long decided that she didn’t like Ballard.

            Her irrational hatred of the man may also have something to do with Echo saying her words, the lingering glances at her, and the subtle conversations that started to grow longer and longer the more Natasha fell in her role. A glimpse of emotions too deep to be anything but real ran through her.

            “I think…” _You are a part of this, but not. You want them gone just as much as I do. But you will fail. And maybe die before you do._ “I think you’re a busy man.”

            “You’re telling me,” Ballard chuckled. Echo had been out on call the last week, coming in for treatment twice. Natasha watched the active’s eyes grow tired, like the glimpses of truth were poking through the veneer.  She caught word of remote wiping, and even without context, the implications were bad.

            Almost as bad as watching grown men enter the showers while the actives were using them. She watched Ballard enter once and Echo walked out with only a towel. Really, with the amount of corruption this place was built on (including the paying off a judge, minor compared to prostitution and human trafficking), she was surprised that nothing escaped their grasp. It’s how the USSR fell, how the Red Room fell, and how eventually everything did. You don’t weep for it, you just move on.

            Knowing she needed this conversation to continue, especially as Ballard’s eyes followed Echo walking across the complex, she asked him about one of the other staffers. “You’ve met Franklin? Is he always that….”

            “Freaky?” Ballard chuckled. “I honestly don’t know. First time I met him, he dressed Echo up like a school girl.”  A flash of arousal filled his eyes, which unknowingly focused in on the object of his desire.

            Natasha crushed the little, but growing, part of her that felt some strange attachment to the active. “Had a meeting with him about Charlie. I am almost positive the man took way too much joy checking the inner seams.”  This got Ballard to laugh, and she could see the handsome smile that worked on so many women in the past. It also brought distractions to him.

            Had he not been so blinded by his attraction by Echo, the man might have made a good agent. After all, he found this place on his own without any of SHIELD’s resources, something she criticized after several minutes she spent surveilling the Dollhouse. His interrogation of the imprint of Terry Kerrans also implied a keen insight of the human experience. Maybe there might be a better job for him after this was all over.

            “Is…is Echo okay?” Natasha felt the question slip out. She pushed the emotions down and quashed the urge to glance at Echo as well. It would not do to development unnecessary attachments at this point. She had a mission, regardless of the information she liberated about Echo.

            “Why do you say that?” Ballard’s voice is strained, and now she had to come up with an excuse. She couldn’t very well admit that her surveillance caught everything that occurred with Kerrans – even if she was out on assignment with Charlie at the time.  She couldn’t reveal the evidence of the glitches or her knowledge of composite events – and that Echo seemed to slowly be going through one of her own. She couldn’t even reveal the technology she stole and sent on to SciTech to deconstruct and attempting to build a defense against remote wiping.

            In the case of the latter, Natasha recommended complete destruction of all evidence and murdering everyone involved. She liked Brink but the man was one good day from being a supervillain. The guy already was a mad scientist but really? Who thinks changing people’s personalities are a good ideas?

            But most importantly, she couldn’t reveal that she knew Echo spent the last three ‘missing’ in the care of Ballard. The façade Echo now wore looked piecemealed, as if she was acting the way she thought an active would, but every now and then, the power of choice reared it head and Echo would exert a little more control over her life. As much as she hated Ballard and felt jealous of the time he spent with Echo, she wanted to thank him (and never would) for helping Echo deal with all of those personalities. But…

            “She’s just so…tired.”

            Echo wasn’t the only one out of sorts. She caught the growing romance between Victor and Sierra, both actives with tragic but vastly different backstories.  According to everything she read – both what was presented to her and what she stole off the servers  - both dolls were placed in positions where their control was taken from them and now maybe they were taking a little of that control back.

            But sending an abused victim back to her abuser? Even the Red Room did not to that. They gave the girls power to take control. Here…here control was lost completely.

            “Kerrens wasn’t…easy for her,” he said. Probably the truth, given they integrated or at least helped her manage all those personalities thrust into her. “Not the last few months haven’t been a blast for all of us.”

            That was an understatement, but one she was willing to let go. Except she knew something was wrong with Echo. Others were playing games with the actives, and Natasha needed to step things up if she wanted to save them. To save Echo.

            So her mission changed, but Coulson would understanding. After all, this was his idea in the first place.

**I0I**

            “Hello Echo,” Natasha greeted her soulmark. It took very little to hack into Rossum’s system to confirm her original theory. The confirmation eased something and though it broke certain protocols, there wasn’t much risk in talking with Echo. 

            Echo’s lips bloomed into a wide smile. Her vacant eyes filled with color as she stared at her. “Hello Natalie.”

            “Are you having a good day?” The conversations with the actives always felt stilted, but Natasha made the effort and Echo’s eagerness only made it more wonderful. That wasn’t a description she ever thought to apply to conversations with anyone outside of Clint, Laura, and Coulson, but here Natasha was, finding something worth fighting for. Someone worth putting up with for more than two minutes. It just was…odd. Getting easier over time but definitely still odd.

            This was their first interaction since Echo returned from Washington, released from isolation and had her confrontation with Alpha. Now Ballard was on life support and Echo distraught, but still functioning. Charlie was out of commission with a severe concussion (along with Foxtrot, Mike, and Zulu when Alpha unleashed the dolls – also, Natalie Rushman was the only one standing, thank you very much). She looked so calm, in control, but none of it was her programing. The situation was now fluid, but the information was flowing in.

            Bugging Brink’s office gave her the most important insight into she’d ever get into this conspiracy: Echo was a person, an active no longer. All the personalities rushing back to the surface. They had been since Washington, but maybe long before. It made sense, it answered all the questions she had about Echo’s behaviors and interaction over the last few months, why she was tired and now experiencing headaches. Her soulmark was in pain, and there was nothing Natasha could do to stop that pain.

Natasha felt her limbs call out to touch her gently, just a brush of her hand against Echo’s shoulders.

            “I am. Thank you for asking.”

            “Thank you for that painting.”

One of the first things Echo did once she was no longer isolated, she expressed herself in art. Not that the other handlers outside Ballard (and maybe Langton) noticed, but the painting was simple. A young red headed girl smiling under a bright sun. The shapes were childish, but the sentiment was real. A moment in the sun, a moment of freedom.

It was placed on her fridge, framed by little childish magnet she bought at a thrift store. For those nights when holding onto Natalie was too much, she looked at that image and thought of Clint’s farm. Of summers where the smells of barbeque filled the evening sky. She thought of what it meant to have a choice and to choose to do nothing.

Echo’s smile somehow became brighter. She opened her mouth to say something but Langton walked up behind her. Echo must have seen something because the smile disappeared quicker than it appeared and her vacant look returned. “Echo, would you like a treatment.”

There was pain in her eyes, and Natasha wanted to say ‘no’ for her, but she caught it, the tiniest shake of Echo’s head. She turned to face Langton. “Yes. I enjoy my treatments.”

“I know you do,” Langton said. “Rushman, everything okay?”

 _No it’s not. You’re playing a game, with Echo, and I don’t like it._ “Yes sir,” Natasha said, mustering enough control to not respond out of character for Rushman. Langton surveyed her as he always did, part glare, part leer, wholly unimpressed and cautious of her.

“Very well,” he turned to Echo. “Your treatment.”

She nodded, offering him a painted smile before walking toward Brink’s office. Langton followed behind her, his gaze now traveling over the entire complex as if searching for something. With Ballard incapacitated, Langton presented more insight into his increasingly disturbing motives. The time was coming, and being forced to watch Echo walk away, the end could not come swift enough, if only to protect the first thing Natasha ever felt like sacrificing everything for.

**I0I**

“Hello Adelle.” Natasha sat in her jumpsuit, more comfortable than she had been for the last six months spent in pant suits and plan underwear. This was her uniform, her skin. She was the Black Widow again, shedding the chains placed on her as Natalie Rushman.

            Now, sitting in the early morning glow as DeWitt entered her office for the first time since she lost the position only to regain it with Brink’s unethical technology, Natasha felt the control she surrendered to play her roles. Things were spiraling out for the Dollhouse, and she located the final piece of the puzzle: Rossum used people as their servers. It wasn’t just using people for profit, subjugating them and freely modifying them without consent and killing personalities. Rossum now had to use their undesirables to give them the processing power to run create their dolls.

It should have been enough for anyone to stand up and say stop. And finally, it was. Finally, Coulson had enough to convince Fury to end this and some SciTech scientists built a theoretical defense to wiping technology. It involved some chemicals in the brain, and frankly, she wanted to know more but other things came first. Finally, the actives would be freed. Echo would be freed.

Right in time, since it seemed that Echo, Victor and Sierra were all scheduled to be shipped off to the Attic the next day. She forced the issue, because once they were in the Attic, then things would be much more difficult. Not impossible, and then Natasha would have ended up killing a lot more people but Coulson tends to frown upon that sort of thing. Clint would have been okay with it.

            DeWitt stumbled in her high heels. She didn’t fall completely, but finding Natasha in her chair likely threw her for a loop, especially this early in the morning. “Miss Rushman? What are you doing here?”

            “Surprisingly, the same thing you are,” Natasha said. She maintained the buzzed sides and slicked back top of her haircut, finding it actually comfortable – that and Echo seemed to like the look on her. “Though we do it much better.”

            “We? Who is ‘we’ exactly? And I take it ‘Natalie Rushman’ is not your real name.” DeWitt finally regained her composure as she walked closer. The sun peaked slowly over the horizon, draping the shorter buildings in shadows of the larger ones. From this high up, the shadows created resplendent paintings. She thought of the painting she sent to Clint for safekeeping, a painting that Echo gave her. She’d keep it, for sentimental reasons, as foolish as that was.

            “No, and let’s say that I represent a group of concerned individuals.” Natasha swung her long legs off the desk. DeWitt tore her gaze off the limbs and Natasha released the smirk she had been holding in for nearly six months. Of course they looked, everyone did. “We were tired of sitting on the sidelines and waiting for this problem to go away. Obviously, you needed some assistance is resolving this…issue.” _Should have been resolved months ago, but Fury wanted to wait. Something about evidence and reports being insufficient to convince the World Council to go against one of their biggest supporters. Well, jokes on them, now Fury’s got blackmail and so do I._

            “And what? You’re here to kill me?” DeWitt’s shoulders dropped at her statement.

            “No. I’m no longer in that business,” Natasha said. Not quite the truth, but there was no reason for DeWitt to know that. Even though she first thought the other woman to be as demented as the rest of Rossum, the actions DeWitt partook in may have been illegal, but they were moral. “It’s going to start soon.”

            “What will?” Natasha walked past her, giving a come-hither smile. DeWitt followed her into the elevator, still in shock, and maybe a little aroused at the sight of her.

            “You’ll see,” she said. The elevator began to move on its own, courtesy of the SHIELD override now running through a local proxy.  None of Rossum’s servers were working, also courtesy of SHIELD.

The Attic had already been shut down nearly twenty minutes ago, with Hill leading the dismantling and cleanup. Those trapped there would receive as much help as they could offer, but some of them…it was the worst Rossum did, and all of it would become public.  Everything would come crashing down.

            What better way to completely ruin the company than shine a light onto everything?

            The elevator stopped at the Dollhouse, and Natasha walked out to the lights on. The actives were already up and what handlers and support staff were there were rushing about. She watched Brink come running down the stairs, completely ignoring her and her wonderful cleavage. Her non-existent feelings were hurt.

            “Something’s wrong.” He bent over to take a deep breath to calm his erratic breathing. “We can’t access…it’s all gone.”

            “Really?” DeWitt raised an eyebrow at Natasha. She smirked and glanced around the floor. Langton’s security badge indicated he was off campus, but technology lied. The Dollhouse reinforced that belief, and she needed to make sure he wasn’t a threat here.

            “The servers are…they’re gone.” Brink finally glanced at her and his jaw dropped at he stared at her.

            “Yes, Topher, this is a woman,” DeWitt said. “Now, please tell me what else you know.”

            “Umm…” He kept staring at her breasts. Natasha gave him another few seconds of uninterrupted view before walking off toward the actives. Her presence was the signal on the ground for Coulson to move in, and now it was just a waiting game. Or it would have been if Langton was accounted for.

            Boyd Langton’s attachment to Echo disturbed her more than Ballard’s did, because this wasn’t just a sexual attachment, although that was a component of it. There was something Caroline Farrell did (Echo’s original personality) or knew, and that scared the man enough to require him to supervise the active. Natasha slowly reviewed the crowd to at least confirm Echo’s safety.

            All the actives stood huddled together. Charlie looked so young and so confused, comforted by Delta, another male active. Anthony Ceccoli, the former Victor stood next to Sierra, holding hands and looking every bit in love. He returned for her and they currently were dealing with the problems arising from his restoration. Problems that apparently they never considered before. The former Whiskey/Claire Sanders wrapped her arms around herself, finally convinced to return to the Dollhouse by Langton for some unknown reason And Echo…

            Echo stood at the center of the group, calm and serene, but her eyes scanning everything. Looking the most alive Natasha had ever seen. The depth obtained through her personalities, all fifty of them, integrating into a solid state should have frightened her, but all the pain and confuse Natasha observed from the past few months gave Echo a kind of serenity. A calm in the storm.

            “And why are you dressed like that?” Brink finally asked, having caught up with her.

            “I can answer that.” Natasha smiled at the man walking up in a very plan, very unspoken suit. He stood about her height, but had the calmness of experience exuded from him. Everyone stopped to look at the man as he walked toward them from the garage. “Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD.”

            “SHIELD?” Brink squeaked, his face growing white.

            “Of course, and I assume you are an agent as well,” DeWitt asked her. She let her face show a little of the happiness at this horror show ending. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. What is to happen to us now? And where is my head of security?” Of course, despite her feelings on the matter, DeWitt was loyal to the end. Natasha admired that about her, though she had the same question and gave Coulson a look, demanding the answer.

            “We’ve detained him,” Coulson said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the cocking of a gun broke the conversation.

            Natasha turned to see Sanders pointing the weapon at her. She wore no fear, no doubt, no expression. Her eyes were just as glazed as an active’s. The silence began to fill with hurried whispers as the actives and support staff tried to move away from the commotion unfolding. Agents raised their weapons in responses, though there was little they could do that she couldn’t do faster and better. Natasha calculated the distance, the motion of her legs to knock Sanders off her feet, the movements necessary to disarm, maim, and takeout Sanders. A thousand combinations filled her mind as she stared Sanders down.

            “They can’t let you do this.” Sanders spoke in a voice Natasha barely recognized. It was unlike her, but given the work done on Perrin, an implanted trigger to protect Rossum should have been expected. She should have seen the possibility, especially with the intel that Sanders had been spending time offsite with Langton. She should have known and this was on her.

            “Hello,” Coulson said. The barrel of the revolver swung toward point at him. Natasha took a step forward to disarm her at the very least (the assassin programs were among the best she had encountered, and wondered how they would fare against her in a fight), but Coulson held up his hand. She and the other agents who followed him in stood down. A few of them glanced to her for orders but Coulson had the lead on this. She’d follow him until she couldn’t, then she’d get back up and keep going.

            “Hell-hello,” Sanders responded. She cocked her head to the left, trying to understand the man in front of him. Coulson just walked closer until he was only a few feet away from her. Natasha motioned toward the agents to begin to remove people, starting with DeWitt and Brink. Both would be taken for extended interviews to debrief them and obtain as much information as they could from the assets before placing them in detention.

            “Don’t – don’t come any closer.” Sanders waved the gun and moved to grip it with two hands. The resolve in her eyes faded away, slowly but it faded. Coulson remained still, staring down the barrel of the weapon.

            One by one, the agents began to pull the actives and support staff out of the room. Echo took the chance and moved to Natasha’s side. Thin fingers slipped in hers and had it been any other person touching her, they would have lost this fingers and quite possible the use of their entire arm. But Echo was different. Natasha understood that now, not completely, but enough to know that letting her through didn’t hurt her in any way.

            Coulson continued to play chicken with Sanders. Somehow, he was breaking through the programming, which usually took either a very determined mind, or maybe just a stubborn one. Glancing at Echo, Natasha concluded it was likely both. “You play beautifully.”

            “What?” Sanders asked. The barrel dipped slightly, dropping away from pointing at his head to point it at his heart.

            “I said ‘you play beautifully.’”

            “No, how, what?” Confusion began to leak into her face.

            Echo leaned close, her body pressing into her side. “Why did he say that?”

            Natasha remained quiet, but she didn’t have an answer. She had theories, some observations, but nothing concrete. Still, she shrugged her shoulders and revised her plans to include protecting Echo at all costs. Not a major change in her movements, but the risk of injury increased significantly.

            “I don’t – why would you – but I don’t – stop. Just stop.” Sanders waved the gun at him. Her hands trembled under the stress, and her eyes began to dart from Natasha to Echo to Coulson. “Let him go.”

            “Let who go?” Coulson asked. The ‘who’ was obvious, but playing dumb confused the targets too often for the ruse not to be tried. “And you do. I know because I heard.”

            “You couldn’t have heard. I don’t play. Anything.”

            “You did when we met.” Coulson reached up and wrapped his hand around the gun. He slipped his thumb between the hammer and the chamber.  “And I won’t let him go. He hurt you.”

            “Who?” Echo whispered into her ear.

            Natasha leaned closer to respond. “Langton.” Echo’s eyes flashed, anger spilling over as her personalities meshed together. She squeezed her hand, holding Echo in the moment. There would be time to talk about that later. Time to discuss it and work through the betrayal.

            “Sanders? With him?” Her voice didn’t rise, but still, Natasha nodded at the mystified look on Echo’s face.

            “He didn’t. He-he-he protected me. Protects all of us.” The gun began to waver its hold, the barrel shifting and slipping to different trajectories.

            “I’m sorry,” Coulson said, the emotion piercing his normally plain façade. Echo shifted on her feet, tugging on Natsha’s hand a bit. She glanced at Echo, trying to read the emotions flickering over her face. “We met once before.”

            “We did? Who…who are you?”

            “I am someone you met in a past life.” Coulson’s sincere smile dropped into melancholy grin.

            “I…I’m supposed to kill her.” Sanders’ eyes flickered to Echo.

            “Not on your life.” Echo stepped forward to glare at her. “I just got this life.”

            “No one is taking it from you,” Natasha whispered. She tugged Echo to her side, catching Coulson’s little smirk sent her way. Even without updating him, the man knew something had happened on this mission.

            “I want to help you Claire,” Coulson said. “We can help you.”

            “I’m a doll. They’ll just wipe me again.” She stumbled backward away from them. Echo glanced at Natasha then at Coulson. “I’m not even human. I’m a thing.”

            “No. You are not things. You are a person.” He turned to look at Echo. “You can make your own choices. Be who you want to be.” A small smile grew on Echo, reflected in her eyes. These were the words he told her when she first rebelled against the Red Room. It took time, energy and more patience then Natasha thought she had, but she lived that truth now: She is not a thing. People aren’t things, and no one will make her one again.

            Coulson turned back to Saunders. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make herself smaller as she moved away from them.  “We’ve figured out how to stop them, how to disrupt the technology and help those who have been impacted by it.” Coulson moved closer to Sanders. “Trust me.”

            Sanders stared at him for several long moments. Natasha felt Echo’s eyes on her, focused now on something beyond the personalities invading her

            “You…you really think so?” The question was odd. Not the proper response to Coulson’s statement, but the smile that lit up Coulson’s face was the brightest she had ever seen. Almost as bright as Clint’s as he held Cooper for the first time.

            “Yes, I do,” he whispered. He turned his glance away from her to face Natasha. “I’ll take her from here. The rest of the agents have begun to clear the house, and subsequent reports from the other houses and Arizona indicated similar successes. Report for debriefing by the end of the day.”

            “Yes sir,” Natasha said. There were more important things to deal with at the moment. She turned toward Echo and gave the girl a small smile. “I suppose you’d like an explanation for all this.”

            “Yes please,” she said. “You have a real name? Or do I have to keep calling you Miss Rushman?”

            “Natasha. Natasha Romanov,” she said. “Are you okay with Echo? Or do you want to be called something else?”

            “I’m Echo,” she said with a crisp nod. “They may have given me it, but I’m making it my own.”

            “Good,” Natasha said, letting herself smile at the intensity

            Echo returned the smile, but it only lasted untl she glanced at Coulson and Sanders again. “But can we…we can leave right?”

            “Of course. You can go anywhere.”  

“Can I…is Paul okay?” Echo’s eyes looked toward the suite where Ballard had been kept. Natasha ignored the contraction in her chest.

“He is. Would you like to see him?” Natasha offered. _I’d let you go. If you wanted it. I’d let you go back to him._

Echo paused in thought. She stared at Sanders who gave into whatever overload of emotions she was experience and collapsed in to Coulson. “He’s okay, right? You can help him? Fix him?”

“We’re going to do the best we can. From what I understand Mr. Brink already had begun to run simulations on restoring higher brain function.”

“Oh.” Echo stared at the suite for another second before turning toward her fully. “Where can we go?”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Natasha asked. Being given a choice once fully outside the Red Room meant more control. It was the least she could offer Echo.

“Leave. Not be here.” Her hands went to her stomach and she glanced down at it before looking back at Natasha with a slight blush on her face. “Maybe get a bite to eat?”

“We can do all of that,” she said, getting a large smile in return for the one she offered. She led them to the elevator, intending to head to the ground floor where a vehicle should be waiting for them. “And maybe some clothes?”

“I don’t know really what I like…” Echo said. She tugged on the drawstring of her pants. “I’m not Caroline anymore.” Her eyes settled into a glare, focusing on Natasha for a moment. “And I don’t want to be her. I’m me.”

“You’re you,” Natasha repeated. “And no one is going to go back unless they want to.”

“Even Alpha?”

“Even Alpha.” She read the reports and had ordered the location of the man. He was just as much of a victim as the rest of the actives. “We’ll offer as much help as we can.”

“Adelle and Topher could help.” Echo stepped off the elevator first, her gaze roaming the entryway. The normal Rossum workers were rushing out the doors, while dozens of agents stood at the exits as others streamed out one door carrying boxes filled with hard drives and files. Everything to be cataloged and reviewed – by someone else, which really was a great benefit of field work.

“Really? What do you think about them?”

“They – they didn’t like what was going on either. I know it started out as a job, but they care for us. The Dolls.” Echo shrugged her shoulders. “They knew something was wrong, that Rossum was doing something. You just stepped in before we could go against them.”

“Be thankful SHIELD did,” Natasha said. She led them through the crowd, an agent waving them through entrance. A SUV was parked at the curb, and Natasha immediately commandeered it for their use. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she watched Echo hop in before starting the engine and heading down the streets of LA. “We’re going to need to get you shoes.”

“I kind of like it,” Echo said, wiggling her toes against the carpet. “It feels… different.” She looked so young, not like when she was an active, but the joy of youth etched on her face made her look more alive than Natasha had ever really known her to be.

“How…how complete – for lack of a better word - are you?”

“You mean with the people in my head?” Echo smirked, tapping her head. “I get headaches from the chair and when they wipe them, but since that’s not happening again – ever - I think I’ll be okay.”

“We’ll have medical check you out, but you look okay.”

“I’m more than okay.” Echo shimmied and motioned to her body. Natasha stared for a long while, not quite missing the look of satisfaction on Echo’s face, but definitely appreciating her soulmark. “You’ll stick around for that, right?”

“If you want,” Natasha said. There was a line between codependence and partnership. Clint made sure she didn’t cross it, but they were just partners. This…things were different with Echo.

“I do.” They drove in silence, the world rushing by them, or crawling depending on if they hit traffic. “Can we spar?”

“Spar?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re a super-agent or something right? Figured like to see what they grow out of SHIELD versus me.” Echo shrugged her shoulders, offering a confident smirk.

“Think you can take me?” Natasha arched an eyebrow at her. It was a question she’d been thinking of for a while, but there was no opportune moment to ask Echo for a little bit of the sport. “And what happened to getting a bite to eat?

“Oh, I know I can. Got at least two different martial artists in here,” she said, tapping her skull. “Not to mention all the dirty fighting I know. Besides, you said I could do anything I wanted. I want to spar you.”

“Well then, who am I to say ‘no’ to a free woman,” Natasha said. She drove the car to the left lane, performed an expert u-turn into traffic, and sped off toward the nearest gym. They’d have a nice set up, and plus, it probably would be fun to show some boys how real girls fight. Quick stop to grab some gym clothes and well, then the fun would begin.

**I0I**

“How the hell can you do all that?” Echo asked for the third time since they left the gym. Natasha gave her an easy smile in return, just as she did every other time Echo asked.

            They’d spent the last hour sparring, which was kind of light for her, but for all the muscle memory, Echo didn’t have the stamina or the strength to perform some of her feats. Echo knew how to use her momentum for throws and tosses, but not enough to reverse the momentum and take control. Plus, the first time Natasha wrapped her legs around Echo’s waist and twisted her to the ground, she thought the other woman was going to explode. In a good way, and that smirk. If Natasha believed in a god, then they definitely were smiling on her at that moment.

            “Practice,” Natasha said, letting Echo into her apartment. This had been their original destination for the night. She’d need to shower, get off the grim of the workout and Echo seemed to want to do the same. The plan had been to go to grab something to eat, but the fight was definitely more fun. It was closer to noon now, so getting some food into their stomachs was now a priority.

            Echo walked to the center of the living room, spinning around to take in the small but efficient “Nice place you got here. Rossum pay for it?”

            “For now. We’ll turn it into a safe house once I leave,” Natasha kicked off her sneakers, hitting the closet door. She may be fastidious while on a mission, but that was over. This was something else. “Or you can have it.”

            “Really?” Echo flopped against the couch, closing her eyes as she relaxed. Natasha stared at her, restraining herself from reaching out and running her fingers over her stomach, her thighs, her breasts, her everything. A slight sheen of sweat coated Echo as her body cooled down from its workout.

            “Would you like something to drink?”

            Echo’s eyes shot open, catching her staring. Natasha didn’t blush, but she offered a chagrined smile. “Sure.” Echo hopped up from the couch and followed her.

            “I’ve got water, some juice – maybe, if it hasn’t gone bad – and some wine” Definitely a glass of wine for her, if only to think about something other than touching her. Six months she’d been working undercover. Six months since she found out about the potential for having a soulmark. It wasn’t too early to drink either, given that she was now off rotation and the mission ended. They’d need to debrief still, but Coulson would notify her of the time. Maybe.

            “Wine would be great,” Echo said. She hopped on top of the counter, her legs kicking out. Natasha poured two healthy glasses, taking care to drink first from hers. Echo watched her, not out of caution, but was that curiosity? That seemed like the logical response, and given the parallels with her own life, Echo to had too many question to know where to start.

            “Do you want to clean up first while I order lunch or afterwards?”

            “Can you cook?” Echo asked, her legs pounding out a muffled patterned against the cabinets.

            “If I have to,” Natasha said with a shrug. “I’m just not sure that I have anything in the fridge.” She waved over to the device and turned to find the takeout menus she’d collected over the last few months. Pulling several out of the draw, she started to sort them for some sense of control. “We can get Italian, Chinese, Thai, or from a rather mediocre sandwich shop. Which sounds good?”

            “That’s –that’s –that’s mine.” Natasha looked at where Echo was pointing and she couldn’t help the blush, a first for her in a long time.

            “I did say it was beautiful,” she said, watching Echo’s eyes for any negative emotions. If she wanted, Natasha would take it down, throw it away even, but she didn’t want that.

            Echo kept staring at it. “Why do you care so much? Why…why bother keeping it?”

            “I don’t have a lot of things that have more than sentimental value,” Natasha said, forcing herself to be honest. “It meant too much for me to give it up.”

            “But....why?”

            “Because I liked it,” Natasha said, taking a step closer. She didn’t want to spook her, but Echo was too transfixed on the image to notice.

            “I made it after they let me out. When I still was hiding from everyone, I just kind of made it to stay under the radar,” Echo said. “I don’t know why I gave it to you. But you kept it.”

            “I did.”

            “And I liked that you did. Did-did you know about me?”

            “In what way?” Natasha tilted her head to the side. “I knew you different from the other actives. I knew you were a composite event. I knew you were important to me, from the first time we met.”

            “Why?” She shook her head, eyes growing larger as she stared. “Why am I important to you?”

            “What do you know of soulmarks?” Natasha moved closer, giving Echo every chance to jump off the counter. Instead, Echo’s hands twitched, like they wanted to reach out, but instead those hands clenched.

            “We’re not supposed…Dolls don’t have them.” Echo closed her eyes and flex her fingers again.

            “You are not a doll. You are not a thing.” Natasha took the chance and grabbed her hands.

            “I-I-I know. I know I’m not but it still a part of what they made me into.”

            “Then let me tell you the story of the Red Room, and then we’ll talk about soulmarks. That okay?” Echo opened her eyes back up, and Natasha did her best not to hide anything. Every emotion, every thought, everything was there for her to see if she wanted to. Knowing how many personalities floated around in her head, some part of Echo had to have been trained to read faces or multiple parts.

            “Okay,” Echo said after a moment. She leaned forward and with the gentlest of touches, kissed Natasha on the lips. “Okay.”

            “Okay,” Natasha said, once Echo had moved back. She moved her hands to Echo’s hips, gripping her slightly before stepping back. She caught a brief pout on Echo’s lips before she hopped off the counter. “Decide what you want to eat?”

            “Chinese, or Thai. Whichever is quicker,” Echo said. She glanced at the painting again before letting loose a smile. “That’s okay right?”

            “Yes,” Natasha said. Dinner would be whatever, but the kissing? The kissing was definitely okay. _Means you’re not hung up on Ballard, or at least not as much as I thought._

            Natasha placed an order for a variety of foods. The actives never got to pick what they ate, instead they only ate what was placed in front of them. It was good food – better than what the Red Room fed its charges – but Natasha doubted they recognized what the different tastes were. 

            She joined Echo in the living room, and for the first time, she spoke freely of what the Red Room was, of what it did, of what it made. She spoke of cold Russian nights, frozen winter days, and the iced marble in the rooms. She shared the lack of colors of her childhood, of the only red being seen was the blood being spilled.  Of dancing and ballet lessons that lasted hours, past the point of exhaustion and pain, until all the children were perfect statues. She was bent, twisted, and frozen into the form the Red Room wanted of her.  

            Natasha talked about her graduation ceremony, of the knowledge of what she gave up and for who she gave it up to. The pain was nothing, or at least, it wasn’t at the time. Not until she escaped, until the Red Room fell and no one else was telling her what to do. Not until she met Clint, and Laura, and Cooper. Now, the pain settled in her soul, digging in for the long cold winter that was her life.

            Except, winter didn’t have to be lonely.

            The food arrived sometime in the middle of explaining her training, or at least detailing a little of it. As much as Natasha wanted to bare her soul, she didn’t want to scare Echo too much. Echo ate slowly, stopping to ask questions and to savor the taste. Not the typical high quality meals she ate at the Dollhouse, but Echo seemed to be enjoying if those little moans were anything to go by.

            “You’re like me,” Echo said between bites and questions.

            “Something like you, though, I’m grateful you didn’t have to go through it,” Natasha placed her cartoon down on the coffee table. She drew her knees up underneath her and leaned back into the couch.

            “How many of you are left?”

            “I don’t know,” Natasha admitted. She didn’t really want to, not with the monsters the Red Room created. “But they couldn’t take away my mark.”

            “They do for us,” Echo said, looking off through the window. The sun had finally started to light up the room.

            “Have you looked?” Natasha asked. “I knew mine because I was taught to respond a certain why.” She left out the killing part, which always tended to unnerve people.

            “No, I haven’t.” She stretched her arms over her head, raising her top a few inches to show off her abs. “But I’m almost too tired to care. You wore me out.” Echo quirked her lips into a mischievous grin.

            “I’ve been known to do that. Do you want to take a nap or finish the story?”

            “You don’t always have to give me a choice,” Echo said, even as she settled back into the cushions. She closed her eyes as her breathing evened out.

            “I know,” Natasha said, waiting a few moments for Echo to relax enough to fall asleep. She whispered to Echo, though she knew the other woman couldn’t hear it. “But I will until I can’t.”

            Natasha began to go through her normal post-mission routine: cleaning up, removal of all aspects of the personality she inhabited, and writing her report. To a degree, the routine was very similar to how Echo lived her life for the last two years, but it all was still under her control and much slower. She chose to clean the apartment, her clothes, herself. She chose how to discard all of Natalie Rushman’s belonging – she did keep a few dresses but not many. She chose what to tell Coulson, what to allude to, and what to completely leave out. 

            It was nearly three in the afternoon when Coulson stopped by. Echo still was napping, her breathing even and calm. No nightmares, no dreams, just the rest of the weary. Natasha had long since changed out of her workout clothing and now wore a comfortable pair of jeans and t-shirt. She felt more like her than she had for the past few months.

            “How is she?” Coulson asked as soon as he was all the way in the apartment.

            “Fine,” Natasha said. “Yours?”

            “Overwhelmed, though she was doing better when she had a chance to talk with Mister Brink and Miss DeWitt.” Natasha nodded and motioned toward the kitchen. She prepared a pot of coffee for his arrival. “Mister Brink may end up working for us.”

            “If he does, then be careful,” Natasha said. She saw the connections to SHIELD within Rossum’s database, connections that were not reported. There was a level of overlap that while not frightening certainly bore scrutiny.

            “I’ve begun the assessment, and only spoken to Hill about it.”

            Of course Coulson was on top of it. The man wrangled Hawkeye and Black Widow, there were few agents who were more competent at threat assessment then him, and even fewer who could rotate problems and find an adequate solution for just about any problem.

            “And Ballard?” Natasha glanced at Echo who turned on the couch. She thought about grabbing a blanket and wrapping her up in it, but it was too warm at the moment.

            “Stable condition. Mister Brink has proposed a few ideas but they need to be discussed first.”

            Natasha nodded, “Echo should be a part of those discussions.”

            “If she is up to it.”

            “No, she needs to be. Most of the other actives, they can turn back but Echo and Alpha, they can’t. They’re new people, and you can’t just…you have to give them the choice.” Natasha ran her hand through her still short hair, playing with the fringe. She might keep it, might not, it depended on a lot of things.

            “Like Clint did with you?” Coulson asked the question that had probably been burning a hole in him. She alluded to it more and more with every report, though never came out and said it. “Does she…?”

            “She does. We talked about it a bit before you came by,” Natasha said. She gripped the mug, trying to focus on the heat instead of the words. Talking about this was so much easier with Echo. She understood and could empathize with her.  “She understand the basics of it, maybe more.”

            “Nat…” Coulson knew the background, he had to, and she forced herself through that conversation once. Alluding to it again didn’t make it easier.

            “Can I have one?” Both of them turned to see Echo standing at the kitchen entrance.

            “Sure,” Natasha said. She stood up and retrieved a coffee mug for Echo. She didn’t normally wait on people, but she needed something to do to avoid Coulson’s sympathy eyes. She poured “Here. Do you want cream? Sugar?” She had those, maybe. She’d have to check, but she’d be willing to run out and grab them, especially if it meant not talking about this anymore with Coulson. She cared for the man, respected him more than she did any others, but she had her limits.

            “Black’s fine,” said Echo. She reached out and took the mug, giving Natasha another smile.

             “How are you feeling Echo?” Coulson asked once Natasha sat back down.

            Echo sipped slowly from the mug. “Fine.”

            Coulson arched an eyebrow at Natasha. She just shrugged her shoulders. There was no reason for Echo to trust him right now, and she counted herself lucky that Echo trusted her.

            “Do you have any questions for me?” Coulson asked.

            “How did you get involved?” Echo said. Natasha caught a quick glance from her, but said nothing, letting Coulson lead.

            “SHIELD has been aware of Rossum’s rise over the last few years. It was only by chance that Agent Romanov was able to be inserted, a convergence of events provided the opportunity to take them down,” said Coulson. “It turns out we were lucky. This time. Another day, another week, another month, and things could have gone south.”

            “We were being sent to the Attic today.”  Echo reached out and grabbed her hand without looking. Their fingers entwined again, and for a long moment, Natasha thought her world stopped. “What is it?”

            “The Attic is what Rossum used to power everything they used. Hundreds of people kept alive, trapped in a dream state, and being used to create their servers. Servers with a processing speed multiplied by the power of the human brain.” Coulson leaned back in his chair and smoothed his tie. “It was the final nail in the coffin. No matter how much some people may have invested or utilized Rossum, once we knew, nothing was going to keep Rossum afloat.”

            “So what? You took down one house, there are -”

            “- no longer any operating Dollhouses. Thanks in part to Agent Romanov’s infiltration.” This got her another smile AND a hand squeeze. “We had access to their servers and from there, it was only a matter of time.”

            “Thank you,” Echo said. She let go of Natasha’s hand. She wanted to keep holding Echo’s, but these moments were too important to rush.

            “You would have been okay. You’re a survivor,” Coulson said.

            “I’m evolved,” Echo countered. “Not sure that counts.”

            “‘Doesn’t matter how we get there, just as long as we finish the day and start tomorrow.’”

            “Did you really just quote Barton to me?” Coulson asked. Natasha just cocked her eyebrow at him and let loose a smirk. “That definitely is a sign the day has been too long.” He stood from the chair and took his mug over to the sink. “We can hold off the rest of the debriefing until tomorrow. Will you two be coming in?”

            “Maybe,” Natasha said, not willing to commit to anything.

            “We will,” Echo said. “I want this to be over. I want to move on.”

            “We can help with that,” Coulson said. He finished the last of his coffee, standing up from the table to put the now empty mug in the sink. “I’ll let myself out. Romanov, Echo.” He nodded at both of them before leaving them in her kitchen.

            They sat in silence, warm coffee still on the table, and only a few quick movements and touches between them. Natasha didn’t stare at Echo, though she observed her hands inching forward and sliding back along the table. Echo played with the handle of the mug, trying hard not to make it like she wasn’t glancing at her every few minutes.

            “So what now?” Echo asked.

            “I’ve finished everything that I need to. What would you like to do?”  Natasha reached over and took the mug from her. It was getting to the point where Echo may start to attempt to balance it, and history with Clint taught that always ended with her having one less coffee mug. 

            Echo groaned, crossing her arms on the table and then hiding in them. “Are you always going to let me decide?”

            “No, I’ve finished my report, debriefed with Coulson, identified the items I would like to keep after this place is cleaned, and I’ve cleaned myself,” Natasha said. Echo stared at her, eyes wide in some combination of emotion. She just shrugged her shoulders. “Not all of us were lazy today.”

            “Hey!” Echo smacked her arm, laughing at the implication, except she didn’t draw her hand back. Instead, she rubbed the pot she hit. “Can you…can you show me your mark?”

            “Are you sure?” This was a big step, for Echo, for her.

            Clint knew because he saw it one time while cleaning her up after an op. She’d been unconscious and bleeding from several knife wounds. He’d removed her clothes (but not her underwear), and cleaned up as much as he could. She only found out because he covered for her once when Coulson asked about her soulmark a month later. The subsequent discussion with Clint resulted in several new agents quitting and the armory needing to resupply and decommission at least two of the quinjets. Of course, that resulted in another discussion with Coulson, though Clint proved to be a good man when he took the fall, again. That was when she knew he could be trusted. He put her above himself, not above his family, but near it, and she never had that before.

            Natasha trusted Echo, but it was different. The files she obtained only revealed what Echo’s mark said, not where it was. Given some of her outfits, Natasha wondered where it could be. And if she wanted to know, to confirm it was her handwriting, it was her words, then she needed to open up just a little more.

“Yeah, I think…I need to know,” Echo said. Her hand stopped moving, now just holding onto her bicep.  

            “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” Natasha said, leaning forward to let her cleavage show. A little underhanded, but she was the goddamn Black Widow. She always got what she wanted.

            Echo nodded, staring down her shirt. Natasha let her look, finding the dumbfounded appearance on her rather cute. Not the type of thing she’d want to see all the time, because intelligence was a major turn on, but definitely the kind that meant Echo’s brain needed to be restarted.

            “Deal?” Natasha asked, finally drawing Echo’s eyes up to her face. Echo turned a bright red, her face flushed as she quickly glanced down again at her breasts before staring at some spot on the table.

            “Deal,” Echo said. She leaned back, releasing her arm. Natasha followed suit, concentrating on removing her sock and not how Echo’s tan, firm body now completely visible to her.

            Natasha tugged the sock off, running her fingers over the mark. She kept her eyes on the writing and took a deep breath and then another. She managed a smile as she turned to Echo before lifting her leg up onto the table.

            Echo reached out and ran her fingers over the writing. Natasha suppressed the urge to giggle and pull her foot away (she wasn’t ticklish, per say, but the feeling of a gentle touch sent a shiver through her). “I thought…”

            “What?” Natasha asked. She leaned forward, pushing her leg closer to Echo. Her thighs felt tight, and the stretch actually felt great. It as a plus that Echo blushed even more at the movement.

            “I thought it was somewhere else?” Echo said. She ran her fingers over the words again before pushing her leg back. Natasha swung it carefully off the table before planting it back on the ground. After a moment, she reached down, removing her other sock before turning back to stare at Echo. “I mean, Ballard said it was on your crotch.”   _Of course he did._

            “No, well, I do have words there,” Natasha said, a smirk formed on her lips. “Want to see it?”

            “Yes!” Echo blurted out. “I mean, no. Not right now, but yes…umm, can we chalk that up to the different personalities?”

            “I thought they were all you?” Natasha asked. A trickle of worry fell through her at the thought of someone controlling her.

            “They are but I’m just asking that you ignore me for a moment.” Echo tried to smile through her blush, tried to appear calm and really, that was kind of hot.

            Echo wasn’t used to this, and the amount of control Natasha thrust upon her probably made it worse. She never made as many choices before, but having options, even small ones could be daunting, and they would be, for anyone else. Except Echo was exceptional, if just about every way. Maybe not quite the same way Natasha was unmade, but definitely in a remarkable manner. The personalities imprinted on her allowed her to deal with problems in ways Natasha never would have dreamed. Maybe they did help her deal with the issue of control.

            “Only if you complete your end of our bargain.” Natasha let her eyes roam downward, staring at the bra-cover breasts.

            Echo glanced down at herself, before looking back at her. “Oh. Right.” She stood up and spun around. For once, Natasha was on the receiving end of the show.

            The words poked out of Echo’s workout shorts, not completely visible, but they wouldn’t have been covered unless the small of her back was. Echo then pushed down her pants, showing off her smooth skin and a well sculpted ass. There, just above her ass, were the first things Natasha said to Echo. Her flowing scrawl curled upward, almost smiling as Echo did when she returned the sentiment.

            “That’s yours right? The handwriting?” Echo asked over her shoulder. Natasha leaned away, smiling wide at the image now in front of her. Echo spun back around, ending her show and sat back at the table. Natasha let her face form a pout, though she certainly was enjoying the interactions too much to be upset. “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes.’”

            “Please do.”

            “So what does that mean? Where do we go from here?”

            “We go anywhere we want.”

            This earned her a large smile. She watched Echo stand back up, her body moving fluidly as she closed the few steps between them. Natasha turned in her seat, letting her hands rest of Echo’s hips. She leaned down, kissing her gently, not cautiously because neither of them would be that type of woman, but their lips brushed against each other in a soft smooth strokes.

            Natasha reached up, her hand playing with the hairs that escaped from her ponytail. She held onto Echo’s neck even as she pulled back. Her face started to hurt with all the smiling. If it were anyone other than Clint, maybe even if it was Clint, she’d deny it, but she was happy. She was a survivor above all else, but that never meant happiness. For once, she was, and maybe, maybe that was okay. 

            “I think I can live with anywhere,” Echo whispered. “So, let’s finish this where I don’t feel like your boss will walk in on us at any moment.”

            “It stops feeling like that around the fourth meeting,” Natasha said with a grin. She stood and began to tug on Echo’s hands. “And bedroom’s this way.”

**I0I - Epilogue - I0I**

Echo took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of the world around her. The morning sun still was peaking up through the woods. She stood on their patio, a warm cup of coffee to ward off the remainder of the spring chill. Summer was coming, slower than she would have liked, but it was coming nonetheless. The liquid warmed her, filling that particular need, but it didn’t fill all of them.

            Living out here was freeing in a way that the city wouldn’t let her. With all the voices in her head screaming and talking and moving about, she found it hard to sleep at night. For once, Rossum may have gotten it right with the seclusion they provided for the dolls, but for Echo, it meant she needed it just to make sure she didn’t wake up completely confused of who she was and where she was.

            The dew reflected the morning light, and she was left to wonder how much longer she’d be out her on her own. Solitude was nice and all, and sometimes she craved it just as much as Nat did, but being alone felt too much like being lonely.

            And speak the Devil’s name, and he shall appear. Echo pulled her phone from her back pocket and glanced at the name. She let her smile grow a little bit as she answered the call. “You’re up early.”

            “Yeah, well I couldn’t sleep. Someone kept me awake all night.”

            “That’s probably not fun for anyone.”

            “No, and I hate to call so early, but I could use…” There was a pause here, followed by a strangled moan of pain. “….use your help.”

            “Are you okay?”  Echo put down her cup on the banister and headed back into the kitchen. She slipped on her boots as quickly as she could before grabbing the keys to her bike as she waited for an answer

            “Yes, yes, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

            “Is it the baby?”

            Another pause. “She’s not supposed to be born for another week.”

            “Babies don’t work like that.”  She started to call up Abigail, a midwife, as she headed out of the door.  The midwife rose to the surface without much complaint, but she had to keep her in the background just long enough to handle getting there alive. She felt everything inside of her shift as the memories started to speak. They never over took her, not any more at least, but Abigail kept a running commentary that made it a little difficult to keep talking, walking, and starting up her bike.

            “I know, I know, but Clint’s not here, and he said he’d be here, and I just feel like something bad happened, and no one called me and -”

            “Laura, breath.” Echo plugged her Bluetooth into her ear before switching it on. No way could she maintain driving and holding the phone at the same time, especially if she didn’t want to crash another bike.

            She headed down the road, listening to Laura ramble on and tried hard not to think about what it meant for her, for Clint, for Nat, and for them. Being off rotation sucked, but after coming back from her last mission, she needed a bit of time to recover. It wasn’t that she hated Sitwell, but she kind of wanted to punch a bitch whenever they made some crass comment about her or Natasha. It would have been so much easier if she could have had Coulson or even DeWitt as her handle, but both were on their own assignments, and so she got stuck with Sitwell.

            Hence the necessary down time and retreat to the little house Nat and her built the previous autumn. It wasn’t much, one story, two bedrooms, a dining room/kitchen and a living room turned library, since they had quickly filled it with books. A patio was added that wrapped around the house, and really, if Echo spent any time there she had a book in her hand and was sitting there reading. Nat was similar: They’d take turns being curled up next to each other while reading, not that it happened a lot, but they had their moments and made the most of them.

            “Laura?”

            “I’m…I’m here.”

            “Laura, is Coop okay?” She opened the throttle as she hit a straight path from their place to the Bartons’.  The bike thudded along, hopping up as she hit some of the bumps, but she nothing she couldn’t handle.

            “Yeah, I fed him and he’s watching some cartoons right now.” Another pause, giving Echo enough time to make the corner without too much other thoughts needed. “He’s okay, but I think he’s worried about me.”

            “Well, I am too, so let’s make sure this is blue skies, kay?” Another pause. “Laura, I know you’re nodding.”

            “I hate having spies as family.”

            “It’s not so bad. How far apart are they?” Echo slowed down so she didn’t freak Laura out too much – or crash, but that was a lower probability – when she arrived.

            “Like five minutes? I’m not sure.”

            “That’s okay. It’s going to be alright.” She stopped her bike just next to where Clint was finishing up his patio.

            She bounded up the loose steps and into the house, finding Laura in the kitchen holding her stomach. “Hey.”

            Relief spread across Laura’s face as she looked up from the floor. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

            “What’s family for?” Echo asked. “Now, let me prep a few things. Think you’ll be okay for a moment?”

            “Yeah,” Laura said between breaths. “I’m good.” Echo reached and squeezed her hand before settling into the memories Abigail was feeding her.

            She worked quickly and quietly, hoping not to freak Cooper out too much. The boy probably was confused, and she’d definitely have to have the talk with him since it was going to happen sooner than later, but right now, Laura was the primary focus. She gathered the supplies she could and set up the bedroom as much as she could before Laura’s groan echoed up the stairs.

            And of course her phone would ring again. “Hello?” She answered as she jogged down the stairs.

            “Hey.”

            “Everything okay?”

            “No.” Echo froze at the word. “Clint…I don’t want to freak you out.”

            “I’m about to help Laura give birth,” she said as she got to the kitchen, “so…”

            “So I’ll be brief: Clint was captured and being used against us.”

            Laura looked up at her but Echo shook her head. She took her hand and waited out the rest of the contraction. “Need me there?”

            “No, I…we need you there. But when it’s safe, come to New York? Yeah, come there.” Laura needed some help standing, but together they slowly made their way up to the bedroom.

            “Will do. Stay safe,” Echo said. “And tell Clint to get his ass home.” Laura chuckled as she lay against the pillows Echo set up. It wouldn’t do her any good to know if Clint was in trouble, and right now, her focus had to be on the baby.

            “I will. Love you.” Natasha hung up before she could say anything else.

            “Love you too.” Echo’s words hit the wind. She’d worry about everything else later. Even with the personalities running through her, she couldn’t be in two places at once. She’d be the hero here, and after that, well, she’d deal with them like she always did: one hour at a time. This baby would be born safely and that was the best way Echo could help. Everything else would figure itself out eventually.

            Echo may be an agent of SHIELD, but being only one thing never satisfied her. The only singular she enjoyed was knowing she wasn’t alone. And with Natasha she never had to feel that way again.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing except the plot. Please let me know if there is any issues with characterization or voices. I tried to do the characters justice, but I am open to honest and fair criticism. 
> 
> Pairing was on the recommendation of stephkae.
> 
> If you have a pairing you'd like read, please let me know. Anyone from anything by Whedon is fair game, so let me know.
> 
> Good night and good luck.


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